Unniyarcha

Intro In northern hills where the monsoons roar, Lived Unniyarcha, of legend and lore. Not yet wed, with dreams still wide, A girl with steel and storm inside. She walked where warriors trained in line, Her urumi sang like a silver vine. “Let me fight,” she told the men, “Or I’ll beat you all and try again.” They laughed — but not for long, For her strikes were sharp, her arms were strong. Each cut she made, each leap she spun, Spoke of battles yet to come. One dusk, on her path to shrine, Mukkutty’s men crept down the line. “We’ll show her place,” they whispered low, “Pretty girls shouldn’t walk alone.” But Unniyarcha paused, her eyes like flame, “You picked the wrong girl to play your game.” With a snap, the urumi unwound from her waist, And danced in air with brutal grace. They charged — and fell like leaves in wind, Bruised and broken, shamed and skinned. She stood alone, untouched, alive, And said, “Tell all — I don’t just survive. I strike. I burn. I won’t obey. This land is mine — now get away.”